


Santa Baby

by ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: “Steve, babe, c’mon!”  Billy groans from the couch, slumped down and knees spread.“I’ve got ten more minutes on the last batch of cookies,” Steve says.  “You’re gonna have to wait.”If ten years has taught Steve anything, it’s that Billy Hargrove waits for nothing.





	Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimadge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimadge/gifts).



> Wanted some fluff and to actually finally write them kissing for once in my goddamn life.

“Steve, babe, c’mon!”  Billy groans from the couch, slumped down and knees spread.  

Outside, the snow is coming down hard and heavy.  It’s a bit early in December for it to be piling up so fast, but it settles in the streets and weighs down on the buildings and trees and brings the whole city into a hush.  

Billy has been complaining about it all week, grumbling under his breath every morning when he climbs out of bed, hissing when his feet touch the cold wood of their floor.  Steve would call him out on his pouting if he didn’t know it would only make it worse.  He’s gotten very good at biting his tongue when he needs to over the years-- especially when it means getting to watch Billy huff and puff around in the snow. 

“I’ve got ten more minutes on the last batch of cookies,” Steve says.  “You’re gonna have to wait.” 

If ten years has taught Steve anything, it’s that Billy Hargrove waits for nothing.  “This is your stupid tradition, Steve.  Get your ass over here.” 

In reply, Steve cranks up the radio sitting on the counter, Eartha Kitt simpering out of the speakers, and Billy rolls his eyes nearly as hard as when he’d seen Steve pull the stupid red and green sweater he’s wearing over his head that morning.  

But then Steve is swaying, mouthing along with the lyrics, and Billy’s frown is a fragile thing-- ready to break at any moment.  He lasts as long as it takes for Steve to dance his way through the first verse, and then he’s laughing and throwing popcorn from the bowl in his lap at the island separating him from Steve. 

“ _ Booo _ ! If you’re gonna dance for me, baby, ya gotta show some more skin.” 

“You gonna pay me for it?” Steve shoots back, and Billy’s eyes are bright and blue and happy on Steve’s face as Steve leans forward on his elbows, bracing against the marble countertop of the island, and batting his lashes.  

“I think I know a way I can make it up to you,” Billy says. 

Steve shakes his head, draping himself against the counter, languid and lazy, lower lip jutting in pure, absurd temptation as the music slows.  On the couch, Billy shifts, still grinning but perhaps a bit more enticed by Steve’s ridiculous display than previously implied. 

_ Think of all the fun I’ve missed _ , Steve winks, mouthing the lyrics at him, grabbing the plate of gingerbread cookies that had been cooling for the last half hour of the bench as he rounds the corner.   _ Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.   _

_ Next year I could be just as good... _

Sitting up, Billy meets Steve halfway, setting aside the popcorn, his hands going for Steve’s hips as Steve braces with his knees on either side of Billy’s thighs.  He balances the plate in one hand, plucks up a cookie with the other, and offers it out, brow raised.  Leaning forward, Billy goes to bite into it, but Steve jerks it back at the last second.  Ducking down, Steve catches Billy’s mouth with his own and tastes salt and butter there, humming.  

_...if you’ll check off my Christmas list. _

A low groan wells up from Billy’s chest, and Steve parts his lips to swallow it down, hungry.  Fingers dig into his hips, and Steve shudders as Billy tugs him closer, fumbling to set the plate of cookies down on the couch next to them.  

He sinks his fingers into the soft curls of Billy’s hair, trimmed short years previous, pulling to angle his head back and lick his way past lips and teeth to the heat of Billy’s mouth.  Billy goes easy, soft in a way Steve would have never imagined-- not back in Hawkins, Indiana, or even five years outside of Hawkins, after running into Billy on the bustling Brooklyn sidewalks-- but here, under Steve’s touch, Billy Hargrove lets go.  

It hadn’t always been this simple.  When they’d first reconnected, Steve had been wary and Billy had been eager.  Kinder than anything Steve had seen in Hawkins, and chided enough by childhood memories to offer to buy Steve a beer.  And then something stronger when a beer hadn’t been enough. 

That had been three years ago.  

“Santa cutie,” Steve mutters against the corner of Billy’s mouth, his jaw, the tendon right below his ear where he sinks his teeth in just shy of too sharp, grinning when Billy jerks up, spams beneath him, and shoves his hands impatiently beneath the hem of Steve’s sweater to get at the warm skin of his back.  “The kids will be here soon.” 

Head dropping back onto the back of the couch, Billy groans.  “Tease.” 

“Was your idea.  Besides,” Steve says, pressing the words to the exposed line of Billy’s throat.  “You know I’m good for it.” 

Billy snorts, rubbing slow circles against Steve’s lower back, and Steve leans away to peer down at him.  Billy’s gaze is fond and heated, not a trace of annoyance, and Steve settles his weight against Billy’s thighs, plucking up a cookie again and offering it back out-- as if to reward him for good behavior. 

Knowing a bribe when he sees it, Billy takes the cookie between his teeth and grins around it, looking ridiculous and lovely in the colored hue of Christmas lights strung about their apartment.  Steve feels something pull tight, in his chest and in his stomach, and he smiles wide and holds up a finger that Billy has to go cross eyed to see. 

“Billy, baby,” Steve croons, offkey, with Eartha Kitt.  “Forgot to mention, one little thing… a ring.” 

He pulls out the little velvet box that’s been burning a hole in his pocket for months.  Billy’s eyes go wide, then wider, and then he’s sucking in a breath that has him choking on the bit of cookie in his mouth.  

When they tumble from the couch, so does the bowl of popcorn and the plate of cookies.  Billy is hacking up gingerbread and Steve is laughing, sprawled beneath him, running a soothing hand up and down his flank.  The floor is a mess, and they’ll have to clean it before their guests arrive, but Steve thinks it was worth it, ultimately, for the way Billy looks at him when he finally catches his breath. 

Somewhere beyond them, the radio has switched over to Sinatra’s  _ Let it Snow _ .  It’s falling in lazy flurries outside; Steve can see it, just through the window beyond Billy’s shoulder, but Billy’s hands are warm and his body is warmer as he lowers himself down over Steve to catch his mouth again. 

There are still cookie crumbs clinging to the corner of Billy’s lips.  Steve drapes his arms over his shoulders, curls his fingers into the cotton of his shirt, and lets Billy devour him-- tasting sweet and warm, like fresh baked gingerbread.  His hands are shoved up along Steve’s ribs, dragging him closer across the floor, the wood cruel and cold at Steve’s spine.  He moans anyways, arches up, and happily lets Billy consume the sound.

When they finally part, Steve’s lips are tingling, and his head is a bit heavy.  He sucks in deep breaths, heart thudding but sure in his chest, and he smiles, crooked and gentle up at Billy’s furrowed brow.  

“Is that a yes?” 

Billy grunts, fumbling over Steve’s head for the box where it fell.  He pops it open, breathes out sharp at the sight of a simple, silver band sitting inside of it.  His eyes slide to Steve and then back to the ring, and without disentangling himself from Steve’s arms, he tugs the ring out and slides it onto his left hand-- chucking the box far into the apartment without a second thought.  

He lowers himself back down, slides a knee between Steve’s own, and circles his hands around to the cradle of Steve’s lower back.  He kisses Steve’s brow, his cheek, his lower lip.  He smiles and pulls him impossibly closer.  

“Yeah, Steve.  It’s a yes.” 

With a hum, Steve pulls Billy’s left hand away from his skin and up to his mouth, kissing where metal meets skin.  “That’s good.  Because I already told Dustin you agreed.” 

Billy slumps into a deadweight above him, earning a grunt, as he presses his face just under Steve’s jaw.  Steve thinks he hears Billy curse between the drag of his lips and his teeth and his tongue against his throat.  

But he’s too busy laughing to be sure. 


End file.
